P!  ATT 


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BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 

WESTERN  WINDOWS,  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

ONE  VOLUME,  I&MO,  $1.50. 

THE  LOST  FARM:  LANDMARKS,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 
ONE  VOLUME,  i6MO,  $1.50. 


*#*  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers.     Sent,  fast-paid,  on  receipt 
of  price  by  the  Publishers, 

HOUGHTON,  OSGOOD  &  CO.,  BOSTON. 


POEMS 


OF 


HOUSE  AND  HOME. 


BY 

JOHN  JAMES   PIATT. 


BOSTON : 
HOUGHTON,   OSGOOD   AND   COMPANY. 

Qfyt  Btoerfii&e  %>u&6,  Camfcrttge. 

1879- 


COPYRIGHT,  1878, 
BY  JOHN  JAMES  PI  ATT 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE  : 

STEREOTYPED     AND     PRINTED     BY 
H.   O.    HOUGHTON   AND   COMPANY. 


r 


I  give  this  Book  with  sacred  gratitude, 
Dear  One,  to  you,  so  gentle,  gracious,  good, 
Whose  high  and  delicate  genius  breathes  but  part 
Of  your  pure  spirit,  sweet  person,  tender  heart. 


904071 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

HOUSE  AND  HOME:— 

A  DREAM  OF  CHURCH-WINDOWS 9 

COUNTERPARTS ;  14 

THE  DARK  STREET 15 

SONG 16 

TAKING  THE  NIGHT-TRAIN 17 

MISTRESS  OF  THE  RING ig 

AT  HOME     ...                        22 

FOUR  HAPPY  WALLS                      -...'....  23 

ONE  OF  Two        .        .  -25 

HOME-BELLS  IN  THE  DESERT 26 

THE  FISHERMAN'S  LIGHT-HOUSE 29 

His  DREAM 32 

WHITE  FROST 34 

A  SONG  OF  CONTENT 35 

THE  MINER'S  BETROTHAL 36 

THE  WINDOW-MIRACLE 43 

THE  HOUSE'S  DARLING 44 

HOMEWARD  ON  THE  TRAIN 46 

A  WINTER-MORNING  IDYL 30 

THE  LAST  FIRE 53 

FORESIGHT  OF  FATE 58 

THE  RING  OF  FASTRADA 60 

To  A  CHILD 62 

PASSENGERS 64 

HER  DREAM  OF  Loss         . 66 

THE  TRUNDLE-BED 67 

THE  OUTSIDE  OF  THE  WINDOW        .       .        .       .  "     .        .        .        .69 


Vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

NOONING  AT  THE  HALF-WAY  HOUSE 72 

WRECK 74 

A  SCATTERED  FAMILY 76 

THE  LAND  OF  MEMORY 78 

BLUB  SKY 81 

DREAM-WORLD • 83 

THE  DEAD  HOUSE-FIRE 85 

THE  BURIED  WEDDING  RING ;       .       .  86 

BIRTHPLACE 89 

THE  SIGHT  OF  ANGELS 92 

FOR  A  GRAVESTONE        .                       93 

THE  GHOST'S  ENTRY ......94 

OTHER  POEMS:  — 

CLIO  IN  THE  CAPITOL             99 

To  THE  MONTH  OF  MARCH 103 

A  TRAGEDY  OF  LONG-BRIDGE 105 

To  A  LONELY  WOODLAND  SPRING .        .109 

HOME-LONGING IIO 

A  VOICE  IN  OHIO        .        .      * .       .  m 

BREVIA ....115 

I.  A  Certain  Conservative .  115 

II.  The  White  Liar 115 

III.  A  Statue  of  Jupiter  by  Phidias     .        ." 116 

IV.  New  Life 116 

V.  After-Wealth •   .        .  117 

VI.  A  Flower  in  a  Book 117 

VII.  A  Moth n8 

VIII.  Influence  of  Books 118 

IX.  With  a  Gift 119 

X.  Holy  Word u9 

THE  DEAD  STAR 120 

ODB I2I 

THE  POET'S  BIRD 139 


POEMS  OF  HOUSE  AND  HOME. 


A  DREAM   OF   CHURCH-WINDOWS. 

"O  EDDENING  the  woodlands  dumb  and  hoary, 
Bleak  with  long  November  winds  and  rains, 
Lo,  at  sunset  breathes  a  sudden  glory  — 
Breaks  a  fire  on  all  the  western  panes  ! 


Eastward  far  I  see  the  restless  splendor 

Shine  through  many  a  window-lattice  bright  ; 


IO  A   DREAM   OF    CHURCH-WINDOWS. 

Nearer  all  the  farm-house  gables  render 

Flame  for  flame,  and  melt  in  breathless  light. 

Many  a  mansion,  many  a  cottage  lowly, 
Lost  in  radiance,  palpitates  the  same, 

At  the  touch  of  beauty,  strange  and  holy, 
All  transfigured  in  the  evening  flame. 

Flutters  everything  with  newer  being, 
Richer  life  than  ever  breathed  before; 

By  the  alchemy  of  clearer  seeing, 

Golden  lie  the  shadows  —  dark  no  more. 

....  Far  away  beyond  the  Eastern  ocean, 

Dreaming  in  the  sunset  I  behold, 
With  a  restless,  palpitating  motion, 

Great  enchanted  windows  burn  with  gold : 


A   DREAM   OF    CHURCH-WINDOWS.  II 

High  cathedral  windows  hushed  in  glory, 
Where  the  gorgeous  priest  of  Time  is  Art, 

Blazoned  miracles  of  marvelous  story, 
Deep  in  many  an  olden  city's  heart. 

And  I  dream  that  in  their  inner  splendor 
Saints  and  martyrs  shine  in  ancient  fire,  • 

While  above,  in  twilight  dusk  and  tender, 
Angels  whiten  with  divine  desire. 

All  the  air  is  peopled  with  a  vision ; 

Seraphs  breathe  their  breath  of  music  there; 
Men  who  made  their  lives  a  holy  mission 

Show  their  souls  in  marble  everywhere. 

But,  within,  some  stranger's  heart  is  haunted 
With  the  faiths  of  homelier  altars  bright, 


12  A   DREAM   OF   CHURCH-WINDOWS. 

Saints  in  dearer  window-glow  enchanted, 
Till  his  face  is  dark  with  saddened  light. 

And  he  sees  in  dream  the  woodlands  hoary, 
Bleak  with  long  November  winds  and  rains, 

Reddened  while  the  level  sunset  glory 
Floats  on  all  the  western  window-panes ; 

Sees,  as  I  do,  while  the  phantom  splendid 
Of  those   gorgeous  windows  passes  bright, 

And  the  radiance,  which  my  dream  attended, 
Slowly  fades  and  falters  into  night : 

While  abroad  the  bare  and  dumb  November 
Ghost-like  stands  amid  the  crimson  haze, 

And  the  glimmering  casements  scarce  remember, 
Ghost-like  in  the  gloom,  the  sunset  blaze :  — 


A   DREAM   OF   CHURCH-WINDOWS.  13 

Sees  a  sudden,  newer,  dearer  splendor 
Issue  from  a  thousand  windows  warm, 

Where  the  children  crowd  with  faces  tender, 
Guarded  by  the  fireside's  sacred  charm. 

Let  me  leave  the  twilight's  dusk  reflection, 

And  the  ghosts  that  walk  the  autumnal  night  :  — 

Wife  and  mother,  with  divine  affection, 
Stand  within  the  western  window-light. 


COUNTERPARTS. 
A  LOVER'S  CONCEIT. 

T  SEND,  Sweet,  my  yearning 

Half-kisses  to  thee ; 
Oh,  send  thy  returning 

Half-kisses  to  me. 

When  our  half-kisses  meet,  love, 
What  marvels  have  birth  !  — 

All  fair  things,  and  sweet,  love ; 
New  Heaven,  new  Earth  ! 


THE    DARK    STREET. 

WEARY  feet  that  fill  the  nightly  air  ! 
No  hearts  I  hear,  no  faces  see  above ;  — 
I  feel^  your  single  yearning,  everywhere, 
Moving  the  way  of  Love  ! 

Forever  crowding  weary,  one  by  one 
Ye  pass  no  more  through  all  the  shadowy  air ; 

The  footsteps  cease  on  thresholds  dearly  lone  — 
Quick  hearts,  glad  feces  there  ! 

There  all  the  voices  of  the  heart  arise, 
Unheard  along  the  darkling  street  before : 

The  faces  light  their  loving  lips  and  eyes, 
The  footsteps  are  no  more ! 


SONG. 

/'""MVE  me  a  home,  thy  heart, 

For  Love  to  lie  in : 
The  world  is  wide  —  oh,  let 
The  lost  dove  fly  in. 

Give  me  a  home,  thy  heart, 

For  Song  to  light  in, 
For  dreary  hours  to  dream 

And  waken  bright  in. 

Give  me  a  home,  thy  heart, 

For  Love  to  see  in, 
For  Earth  to  look  like  Heaven, 

And  Heaven  to  be  in ! 


TAKING  THE   NIGHT-TRAIN. 

A     TREMULOUS  word,  a  lingering  hand,  the 

burning 

Of  restless  passion  smouldering  —  so  we  part ; 
Ah,  slowly  from  the  dark  the  world  is  turning 
.When  midnight  stars  shine  in  a  heavy  heart. 

The  streets  are  lighted,  and  the  myriad  faces 
Move  through   the   gaslight,  and   the   homesick 

feet 

Pass  by  me,  homeless  ;  sweet  and  close  embraces 
Charm  many  a  household  —  laughs   and   kisses 
sweet. 


1 8  TAKING   THE   NIGHT-TRAIN. 

From  great  hofels  the  stranger  throng  is  streaming, 
The  hurrying  wheels  in  many  a  street  are  loud  ; 

Within  the  depot,  in  the  gaslight  gleaming, 
A  glare  of  faces,  stands  the  waiting  crowd. 

The  whistle   screams  ;    the   wheels   are   rumbling 
slowly, 

The  path  before  us  glides  into  the  light : 
Behind,  the  city  sinks  in  silence  wholly ; 

The  panting  engine  leaps  into  the  night. 

I  seem  to  see  each  street  a  mystery  growing, 
In  mist  of  dreamland  —  vague,  forgotten  air  : 

Does  no  sweet  soul,  awakened,  feel  me  going  ?  — 
Loves   no   dear   heart,   in   dreams,  to   keep   me 
there  ? 


MISTRESS   OF   THE   RING. 

INSCRIBED   TO    A    BRIDE. 

A  H,  little  ring  of  gold !  —  all  one, 

Two  lives  are  in  its  tender  power  ; 
Two  morning  paths  together  flower, 
Two  hearts  beat  toward  the  westering  sun. 

....  On  the  sweet  band  was  laid  a  charm 
Whoe'er  its  golden  orb  should  wear, 
Her  years  unblighted  May  should  bear, 

With  Love  to  guard  her  close  and  warm. 

The  spell-wrought  bond  should  fold  within 
That  circle  of  the  enchanter's  might 


2O  MISTRESS   OF   THE   RING. 

All  gentle  spirits  of  joy  and  light, 
The  dawn-touched  Eden  pure  of  sin. 

Clasped  in  its  sacred  round  should  glow 
The  gracious  atmosphere  pf  Home, 
Whose  angels  each  from  Heaven  should   come, 

And,  vanishing,  to  Heaven  should  go. 

Held  safe  in  that  enchanted  air, 
How  fair  to  her  and  how  serene 
The  storm-dark  world  should  still  be  seen 

Beneath  the  rainbow  lighted  there  ! 

All  fortunes  should  by  her  be  won  :  — 
Their  myrtle  and  cypress  deathless  friends, 
Years,  many  as  Heaven  for  blessing  sends, 

Bright  as  to  earth  Heaven  gives  the  sun. 


MISTRESS   OF   THE   RING.  21 

i 

This  was  the  precious  spell.     Behold 
(So  may  its  working  follow  true) 
I  set  its  charm  to  words  for  you  — 

See  on  your  hand  that  spell-bound  gold  ! 


AT   HOME. 

off  the  sunset-smitten  spires 
Breathe  through  the  wood  their  golden  fires  ; 
Hither  the  noisy  city  swells 
A  dreamy  tide  of  vesper  bells. 


FOUR   HAPPY   WALLS. 

PRAYER   AT    HOUSE-WARMING. 

1  X)UR  happy  walls  to  shut  the  dark  away, 

Four  happy  walls  to  keep  the  light  secure  : 
These  we   call   ours  —  oh,  make  them   yours,  we 

pray, 
Kind   gods    of   the   hearth,  domestic    guardians 

sure. 

Four  walls  shall    close   our   sphere   of    love   com 
plete, 

Though     all     the    world    within    our    love    we 
fold ;  — 


24  FOUR  HAPPY   WALLS. 

Oh,  bless   our   threshold,  make   our   hearth    your 

seat : 

Our  home  your  heaven,  your  home  our  heaven 
hold! 


ONE  OF  TWO. 

T    ISTEN  and  look  !     If  you  listen,  you  see 

A  nest  with  a  bird  in  yonder  tree  : 
Above,  in  the  leaves  that  glitter  with  May, 
The  little  half-owner  is  singing  to-day  : 
"We  are  very  proud,  we  are  rich,  and  blessed' 
Come  and  look,  if  you  please,  at  our  nest." 

Listen  and  look  !     If  you  look,  you  hear 
The  sweetest  song  you  have  heard  for  a  year ; 
Over  the  nest,  on  the  tremulous  spray, 
The  little  half-owner  is  singing  to-day  : 
"Soon,  in  the  nest  I  have  asked  you  to  see, 
Listen  and  look  for  our  family ! " 


HOME-BELLS   IN   THE   DESERT. 

[FROM    AN    INCIDENT    DESCRIBED    IN    KINGLAKE'S 
"  EOTHEN."] 

OWEET  Sabbath  morn !     The  summer  breeze 
With  English  sunshine  fills  the  trees 

About  the  church-tower  old, 
Whose  bells  o'erflow  the  vale,  and  steal 
Through  green,  deep  lanes,  with  gentle  peal, 

To  many  a  home's  dear  fold. 

....  Through  the  dead  sand,  the  boundless  glare, 
The  blinding  silence  everywhere, 
(He  veiled  from  that  fierce  flame,) 


HOME-BELLS    IN    THE    DESERT. 

They  reach  a  wanderer's  dream :  awake, 
Those  bells  the  awe-filled  silence  Break,  — 
He  hears  them  all  the  same  ! 

Enchantment !     May  a  mother's  prayer 

Have  breathed  those  wondrous  travelers  there, 

Far  chimes  of  mother-land  !  — 
To  call  her  wanderer's  worship  home  ? 
Oh.  softly  clear  and  near  they  come 

With  Sabbath  o'er  the  sand  ! 

Or  may  some  flying  dream  have  sent 
Through  Memory's  passive  instrument 

A  breath,  those  chimes  to  start, 
That,  vibrant  in  the  sunshine  still, 
The  desert  air  with  music  fill, 

And  echo  in  his  heart  ? 


28  HOME-BELLS   IN   THE   DESERT. 

He  knows  not,  but,  dream-like,  he  sees 
That  church-tower  old,  its  clustered  trees, 

In  far  familiar  air. 
'T  is  Sabbath  morn  in  mother-land  : 
Those  home-bells  make,  through  the  hot  sand, 

Their  gentle  visit  there ! 

What  blissful  vision  he  perceives !  — 
Through  sunny  liftings  of  the  leaves, 

White  gleams  and  faces  known  : 
Dear  church-paths  old ;  and  one  glad  door 
Opens,  —  its  rose's  fragrance  o'er 

The  desert's  breath  has  blown  ! 


THE   FISHERMAN'S   LIGHT-HOUSE. 

A     PICTURE  in  my  mind  I  keep, 

While  all  without  is  shiver  of  rain; 
Warm  firelit  shapes  forgotten  creep 
Away,  and  shadows  fill  my  brain. 

I  see  a  chill  and  desolate  bay 

That  glimmers  into  a  lonely  wood, 

Till,  darkling  more  and  more  away, 
It  grows  a  sightless  solitude. 

No  cheerful  sound  afar  to  hear, 
No  cheerful  sight  afar  to  see ;  — 

The  stars  are  shut  in  heavens  drear, 
The  darkness  holds  the  world  and  me. 


30  THE  FISHERMAN'S  LIGHT-HOUSE. 

Yet  hark  !  —  I  hear  a  quickening  oar, 

The  burden  of  a  happy  song, 
That  echo  keeps  along  the  shore 

In  faint-repeating  chorus  long. 

And  whither  moves  he  through  the  night, 
The  rower  of  my  twilight  dream  ? 

A  compass  in  his  heart  is  bright, 
And  all  his  pathway  is  a  gleam ! 

No  light-house  leaning  from  the  rock 
To  tell  the  sea-tossed  mariner 

Where  breakers,  fiercely  gathering,  shock  — 
A  fiery-speaking  messenger ! 

But  see,  o'er  water  lighted  far, 

One  steadfast  line  of  splendor  come !  — 


THE    FISHERMAN  S    LIGHT-HOUSE.  3! 

Is  it  in  heaven  the  evening-star? 
The  fisher  knows  his  light  at  home ! 

And  which  is  brighter  —  that  which  glows 
His  evening  star  of  faith  and  rest, 

Or  that  which,  sudden-kindled,  goes 
To  meet  it  from  his  eager  breast  ? 


HIS  DREAM. 

IN    ABSENCE. 

T  T  7  AS  it  a  blissful  dream  I  dreamed, 
Or  Fancy's  sleepless  make-belief  ? 
She  came — oh,  was  she  here  or  seemed  ? 

A  gentle  vision  brief; 
And,  like  a  rose-tree  over  me, 
She  kissed,  she  clasped  me  tenderly. 

Was  it  a  blissful  dream  I  dreamed, 
Or  Fancy's  sleepless  make-belief? 

She  came  —  oh,  was  she  here  or  seemed  ?  - 
A  happy  vision  brief; 


HIS    DREAM.  33 

And  bent,  caressing,  and  caressed, 
A  moment's  heaven,  upon  my  breast ! 

It  was  a  blissful  dream  I  dreamed, 
Or  Fancy's  sleepless  make-belief ; 

She  came  —  she  was  not  here  but  seemed  — 
A  flying  vision  brief. 

O  soft  and  vanished  dream  —  despair 

Of  solitude  and  empty  air ! 


WHITE   FROST. 

r  I  ^HE  ghostly  Frost  is-  come, 

I  feel  him  in  the  night ; 
The  breathless  leaves  are  numb, 

Motionless  with  affright : 
The  moon,  arisen  late  and  still, 
Sees  all  their  faces  beaded  chill. 

The  ghostly  Frost  is  here,  » 

I  see  him  in  the  night  ; 
Through  all  the  meadows  near 

Waver  his  garments  white  : 
Ha  !  at  our  window,  looking  through  ?  - 
Ah,  Frost,  this  fire  would  conquer  you 


A   SONG   OF   CONTENT. 

HP*  HE  eagle  nestles  near  the  sun ; 
The  dove's  low  nest  for  me  !  — 
The  eagle's  on  the  crag :  sweet  One, 

The  dove's  in  our  green  tree. 
For  hearts  that  beat  like  thine  and  mine, 

Heaven  blesses  humble  earth  ; 
The  angels  of  our  Heaven  shall  shine 

The  angels  of  our  hearth ! 


THE  MINER'S  BETROTHAL. 


'"T^HE  miner  kissed  his  maiden  bride.     "  Upon 

St.  Lucia's  Day, 
Their  blessing  on  our  lives,  fast-bound,  the  priestly 

palms  shall  lay  ; 
Then  we  will  build  our  lucky  nest  in  summer  trees 

together, 
Where   Peace   and   Love,  like  singing-birds,  shall 

keep  their  sunny  weather." 

i  The  story  is  related  of  a  young  miner,  somewhere  in  the 
north  of  Europe,  whose  body  was  found,  fifty  years  after  his  death 
by  the  falling  in  of  a  mine,  preserved  life-like  by  some  chemical 
property  in  the  earth,  and  was  recognized  only  by  the  faithful 
woman,  grown  old  and  withered,  to  whom  he  had  been  betrothed. 


THE    MINERS    BETROTHAL.  37 

Yesterday  came  the  Sabbath  when,  oh,  brightly 
everywhere  ' 

The  earth  was  wreathed  divinely  with  the  heav 
enly  halo-air; 

And  in  the  village  chapel,  for  the  second  time 
proclaimed, 

The  holy  bans  were  spoken,  and  the  happy  mor 
row  named. 

"  Good-morning,"  at  her  window  now  he  greets  her, 

going  by, 
Down  to  the  midnight  mine  all  day  —  her  smile's 

her  bright  reply  : 
"  Good-morning,"  in  his  heart  it  sings,  and  merrily 

and  fast 
From  her  sweet  sight  he  vanished  —  far  away  into 

the  Past ! 


38  THE  MINER'S  BETROTHAL.  • 

Glad-hearted  plays  her  needle,  and  her  work  is 
made  of  song ; 

Fancies  at  loving  work  for  Love  lighten  slow  Time 
along. 

Slowly  the  morning  dies  and  slow  the  evening 
hours  depart, 

And  in  her  cheek  the  roses  climb  —  their  fra 
grance  fills  her  heart. 

....  Fifty  long  years  of  happy  Junes  and  dreary, 
dark  Decembers  ! 

Fifty  long  years  of  smiles  and  tears  —  bright  fire 
sides,  dying  embers  ! 

Fifty  long  years  —  on  what  strange  shores  have 
crawled  their  broken  waves  !  — 

How  far  away  their  echoes  dead  drop  down  in 
Memory's  caves  ! 


THE    MINER  S    BETROTHAL.  39 

Old  crowns  from  dust  gleam,  buried,  and  old  scep 
tres  lie  forgot  ; 

Old  prisons,  earthquake-shaken  low,  have  opened 
doors  for  Thought ; 

Gray,  giant  slumberers  have  awaked  with  blindness 
in  their  eyes  ; 

The  West  has  rounded  toward  the  East  more 
manly  destinies.1 

Some  miners  toil  within  a' mine  one  morning  bright 

and  fair, 

In  olden  excavations  deep  below  that  morning  air  : 
When  lo  !  a  dreamer  lying  there,  asleep  in  youth 

benign  ! 
And  with  his  dream  about  him,  fresh,  they  bring 

him  from  the  mine. 

1  The  French  and  American  Revolutions  had  meanwhile  taken 
place. 


4O  THE  MINER'S  BETROTHAL. 

No  'one  remembers,  seeing  him.     None  know  him. 

Who  is  he  ?  — 

Lying  a  dreamer  all  alone,  a  man  of  mystery  ? 
Full   of    the    love-dream   long    ago,   he    seems    a 

dreamer  now  : 
Yesterday's  kiss  is  in  his  heart,  this  morning's  on 

his  brow  ! 

They  are  all  gone,  they  are  all  gone,  the  close- 
familiar  faces  ; 

Old  footsteps  falter  far  away,  old  echoes  lose  their 
places  : 

No  father,  no  mother,  no  brother,  steals  among 
that  crowd  to  see 

And  find  his  lost  face  in  their  hearts,  a  buried 
memory. 


THE    MINER  S    BETROTHAL.  4! 

But  who  is  she  that  comes,  her  hands  long  weary 

with  their  part  ?  .  .  .  . 
From  the  old  coffin  of  her  love  he  wakens  in  her 

heart ! 
Love,  only  sleeping  there  like  him,  leaps  up  as  live 

and  young 
As  when   the  dews   of  the  far  days    to   Maying 

roses  clung. 

Her  eyes  unblinded  by  the  years  of  patient-wait 
ing  pain, 

She  claims  him  for  her  own,  long-lost ;  she  clasps 
him  back  again  : 

To  a  true  heart  she  clasps  him  back  ;  her  wrinkled 
features  trace 

Life's  paths  of  sorrow  fifty  years  —  Death  has  not 
seen  his  face  ! 


42  THE    MINER  S    BETROTHAL. 

"  Good-morning,"  long  ago  he  said ;  he  comes  to 
say  "  Good-even." 

Love  that  has  lived  so  long  on  earth  has  moulted  \ 

» 
wings  for  heaven. 

A  few  more  days,  the  appointed  time,  the  bless 
ing  One  shall  lay; 

She  knows  her  fixed  betrothal,  and  she  waits  the 
wedding-day. 


THE   WINDOW-MIRACLE. 

T  T  blossomed  here  on  the  window, 

All  the  long,  still  winter  night, 
While  the  Earth  in  moonshine  slumbered 
With  face  upturned  and  bright. 

It  blossomed  here  on  the  window, 
The  phantom-summer  of  Frost, 

With  trees  and  flowers  and  foliage  — 
All  loveliness  that  is  lost. 

The  children,  awakened  at  dawning, 
Stand  gazing  with  hushed  delight ; 

They  see,  with  sight  beyond  seeing, 
This  miracle  of  the  Night ! 


THE   HOUSE'S   DARLING. 

/^\  SWEET,  shy  girl,  with  roses  in  her  heart 
And  love-light  in  her  face,  like  those  up- 
grown  ; 

Full  of  still  dreams  and  thoughts  that,  dream 
like,  start 

From  fits  of  solitude  when  not  alone  ! 
Gay  dancer  over  thresholds  of  bright  days, 
Tears    quick   to   her   eyes    as   laughter    to   hei 

lips  !  — 

A  game  of  hide-and-seek  with  Time  she  plays, 
Time     hiding    his     eyes    from     her    in    blithe 
eclipse. 


THE   HOUSE'S   DARLING.  45 

O  gentle-souled  !  —  how  dear  and  good  she  is, 
Blessed  by  soft  dews  of  happiness  and  love  ; 
Cradled  in  tenderest  arms !     Her  mother's  kiss 
Seals  all  her  good-night   prayers.     Her  father's 

smile 
Brightens    her    mornings.       Through    the    Earth 

shall  move 

Her  child-sweet  soul,  not  far  from  Heaven  the 
while  ! 


HOMEWARD   ON    THE    TRAIN.1 

TT  7HAT  homes  are  waiting  now 

With  doors  ajar,  with  quickening  hearts, 

—  the  smile 

Of  firelit  quiet  touching  lip  and  brow  — 
For  us,  far  off  the  while  ! 

Tidings  have  gone  before  — 
Swift  messengers,  that  traverse  without  fear 
Darkness    as    day,   whispering    through    many  ,a 

door 

i 

Whose  threshold  knows  us  near  ! 

1  On  seeing  a  laden  coffin  one  winter  night  taken  on  board  a  rail 
way  train. 


HOMEWARD    ON   THE   TRAIN. 

For  some,  perchance,  the  years 
Have  traveled  with  their  faces,  that  to-night 
Return  —  ah,  yes,  from  change,  and  Time,  and 
tears  !  — 

Where  breathed  their  morning  light. 

• 

And  some  but  yesterday 
Kissed    parting    lips,    then    smiling    dared    to 

part, 
Trusting  to-morrow,  with  its  constant  ray, 

Should  light  heart  back  to  heart. 

....  But  who  is  he  ?  —  what  door 
Is  open  now  for  him  ?  —  What  mother  stands, 
Yearning  to  fold  her  wanderer  safe  once  more 

From  the  world's  restless  sands  ? 


48  HOMEWARD    ON   THE   TRAIN. 

What  faithful  one  beside 
Hope's    gentle    watch-fire    waits   for    Love's    new 

bliss  ?  — 
What  children,  playing  in  Time's  crawling  tide, 

Hold  lips  for  father's  kiss  ? 

One  silent  passenger, 

In  the  quick  press  of  eager  tongue  and  brain ! 
Whither  ?     I  know  not,  nor  who  waits  him  there. 

He  travels  on  the  train  ! 

Ah  me  !   if  some  glad  door, 
To-morrow,  reaches  longing  arms  for  him, 
Joyous    come    home  !      (He   has    gone   home    be 
fore.) 

There  bright  eyes  must  grow  dim  ! 


^     HOMEWARD    ON   THE    TRAIN.  49 

Travelers,  near  or  far  ! 

Remember,  loosening  hands  (ah,  clasp  again !) 
The  silent  passenger  in  yonder  car, — 

Death  travels  on  every  train  ! 
4 


A  WINTER-MORNING  IDYL. 

_TAUNTING  the  darkness  everywhere, 

The  snow  has  clothed  the  moonless  air 
Through  the  long  hush  of  night ; 
And  now  with  morn  the  woodlands  fill 
Their  solitude,  how  bright !  how  still !  — 
The  valley  hides  in  light! 

The  sunrise  through  our  window  sees 
Illumined  towers,  illumined  trees, 

That  melt  in  silver  gleams, 
Where  the  weird  Artist  of  the  Night, 
To  give  the  child  a  new  delight, 

Has  tried  to  paint  its  dreams  ! 


A  WINTER-MORNING   IDYL.  51 

The  trees  with  dropping  sparkles  glisten 
Beside  our  door  :  and  —  see  them  !  listen  !  — 

A  dozen  boys,  aglow, 
Warm-blooded,  full  of  buoyant  life, 
Mingle,  knee-deep,  in  merry  strife  — 

Mock-battles  with  the  snow ! 

Losing  the  winter  in  their  joy, 

What  shouts  !  what  laughter !     Yonder  boy, 

A  champion  lithe  and  tall, 
Compels  his  corps  with  instant  will  — 
An  avalanche  charge !     But,  massed  and  still, 

These  neither  fly  nor  fall ! 

One  little  rogue,  so  cunning-shy, 
Powders  the  large  boy  in  his  eye  : 
With  quick-averted  face 


52  A   WINTER-MORNING    IDYL. 

Another  throws  —  a  cap  is  flying  ;  — 
To  escape  the  ball  another  trying 
Slips  in  soon-lost  disgrace ! 

....  Who,  smiling,  watches,  eager,  there? 
An  old  man  —  hoar-frost  in  his  hair, 

But  flower-warmth  in  his  heart  —  ( 
At  yonder  window,  peering  through, 
Joins  in  the  happy  battle,  too, 

His  boyhood  taking  part! 


THE   LAST   FIRE. 

[BEFORE  LEAVING  A  FIRST  DWELLING-HOUSE.] 

/"T"VHE  first  fire,  one  remembered  night 
Of  chilly  Fall,  we  kindled  ;  bright 

And  beautiful  were  its  gleams  ! 
Warming  the  New  World  all  our  own, 
And  welcoming  radiant  futures,  shone 

That  prophecy  of  our  dreams  ! 

Our  window  burned  against  the  cold, 
And  faces  from  the  dark,  behold,    - 
In  transient  halos  came  ! 


54  THE    LAST    FIRE. 

The  household  troubadour  of  Mirth, 
The  cricket,  took  with  song  our  hearth 
And  blessed  the  blessing  flame. 

O  flushing  firelight,  rosy-warm  ! 

O  walls,  with  many  a  floating  form 

Of  dreamy  shade  a-bloom ! 
Fancy,  by  Love  transfigured,  wrought 
All  miracles  of  tender  thought, 

Transfiguring  the  room  ! 

Beloved  and  blessed  and  beautified, 
God-given  Angel  at  my  side! 

The  winter  came  and  went ; 
And  never  since  the  world  began 
Grew  sweeter  happiness  to  man, 

Or  tenderer  content. 


/          THE   LAST   FIRE.  55 

At  dawn  we  leave  the  place,  so  warm 
And  bright  with  you,  December's  storm 

Nor  cold  nor  shadow  brought ; 
The  Last  Fire  clothes  our  walls  to-night  — 
Our  window  breathes  its  wonted  light, 

But  sadness  haunts  our  thought. 

By  tenderest  tides  of  feeling  stirred, 
(Your  heart  brings  tears  for  every  word,) 

I  hear  you  murmur  low  : 
"  Here  blossomed  Home  for  you  and  me ;  — 
Love  walked  without  his  glamoury, 

And  stood  diviner  so. 

"  Dear  echoes,  answering  day  by  day  !  — 
We  cannot  take  the  past  away ! 
.    The  threshold  and  the  door, 


56  THE   LAST    FIRE. 

Where  Love's  familiar  steps  have  been 
Repeated  evermore  within, 
Are  dear  for  evermore  !  " 

Yes,  but  the  place  beloved  shall  be 
Bequeathed  to  loving  Memory;  — 

The  spirits  of  the  place, 
The  Lares  of  the  household  air, 
Born  of  the  heart,  the  heart  shall  bear : 

They  know  no  stranger's  face. 

The  atmosphere  we  fill  is  ours  ; 

It  moves  with  us  its  sun,  its  showers  ; 

It  is  our  world  alone, 
Vivid  with  all  our  souls  create, 
The  plastic  dream,  the  stone  of  Fate. 

We  take  and  keep  our  own. 


THE    LAST    FIRE. 

So  let  the  Last  Fire  flame  and  fall, 
The  ghostly  ember-shadows  crawl, 

The  ashes  fill  the  hearth  : 
The  cricket  travels  where  we  go, 
And  Home  is  but  the  Heaven  below, 

Transfiguring  the  Earth  ! 


FORESIGHT  OF   FATE. 


TV  /T OTHER  and  child  walk  in  a  path  of  flowers, 
Through   a  bright   garden   tended   by  the 
Hours. 


From  gentle  blossoms,  fragrant-hearted  there, 
Birds,  singing,  lift  the  child's  heart  into  air. 

Some  dreadful  House  before  them  grows,  unknown  : 
A  ghostly  grated  casement  stares  from  stone  ! 

Whence  came  the  phantom  ?  —  what  enchantment 

wild  ? 
The  mother  sees  it  not,  nor  can  the  child. 


FORESIGHT   OF   FATE.  59 

Lo,  some  lost  face,  haunting  with  dreamy  glare 
The  darkness,  looking  through  the  darkness  there ! 

How  strange  if  he,  lost  to  himself  within, 
Were  that  same  child,  pure  as  a  rose  from  sin  ; 

And  if  that  face,  through  those  fierce  bars  aglare, 
Saw  that  same  child  cling  to  that  mother's  care  ! 


THE   RING   OF   FASTRADA. 

r  i  ^HE  little  ring  you  fondly  show 
Is  the  same  ring  Fastrada  wore, 
Wife  of  the  Great  Charles  long  ago  — 
Whose  charm  could  bind  him  evermore. 

Living,  she  held  him  with  its  spell ; 

Dying,  she  drew  and  kept  him  near ; 
He  clung  to  her,  beloved  so  well ;  — 

He  would  not  leave  her  precious  bier. 

O  dearest,  gentlest,  sweetest,  best  ! 

Whose  eyes  of  starry  tenderness 
So  many  happy  years  have  blest, 

So  many  more  I  pray  shall  bless  : 


THE    RING   OF    FASTRADA.  6 1 

The  world-old  Magic-Master  brought 
You  the  same  ring  —  if  not  the  same, 

The  self-same  charm  in  this  he  wrought 
Which  gave  to  that  romantic  fame. 

Living,  you  hold  me  with  its  spell  ; 

Dying,  would  draw  and  keep  me  near, 
To  cling  to  you,  beloved  so  well ;  — 

How  could  I  leave  your  precious  bier  ? 


TO   A   CHILD. 

S~\H,  while  from  me,  this  tender   morn,  depart 

Dreams  vague  and  vain  and  wild, 
Sing,  happy  child,  and  dance  into  my  heart, 
Where  I  was  once  a  child  ! 

Your  eyes  they  send  the  butterflies  before, 

Your  lips  they  kiss  the  rose  ; 
O  gentle  child,  Joy  opes  your  morning  door  — 

Joy  blesses  your  repose  ! 

The  fairy  Echo-children  love  you,  try 

To  steal  your  loving  voice  ; 
Flying  you  laugh  —  they,  laughing  while  you  fly, 

Gay  with  your  glee  rejoice. 


TO   A   CHILD.  63 

Oh,  while  from  me,  this  tender  morn,  depart 
Dreams  vague  and  vain  and  wild, 

Play,  happy  child,  —  sing,  dance,  within  my  heart, 
Where  I  will  be  a  child  ! 


PASSENGERS. 

TVTIGHT  held  aloft  the  gentle  star, 

Her  earliest  watch-fire  in  the  dark, 
And  by  the  window  of  the  car 

Fluttered  and  flew  the  hurrying  spark. 

* 

Its  pathway  finding  through  the  snows, 
The  train  rushed  on  with  tremulous  roar- 

Like  one  whose  purpose  burns  and  glows, 
A  torch  to  lead  his  life,  before. 

The  darkness  grew  around  the  face 
Of  every  traveler  for  the  night: 

A  sudden  vision  filled  the  place 

And  touched  the  gloom  with  tender  ligh 


PASSENGERS.  Of 

Not  from  the  holy  world  unknown  :  — 

A  gentle  mission  of  the  air 
From  happy  hearth  and  threshold  flown, 

Familiar  angels  gathered  there. 

O  prayers  that  breathe  from  faces  bright, 

0  thoughts  of  love  that  will  not  sleep, 
O  dreams  that  give  the  soul  by  night 

Its  wings  the  body  may  not  keep ! 

Not  unattended,  far  away, 

The  wanderer  moves  with  throngs  unknown 
Ye  meet  or  follow,  night  or  day  — 

1  saw  your  heavenly  shapes  alone  ! 

5 


HER  DREAM   OF   LOSS. 

T  N  a  dark  cavern  is  a  frail  flower  sown, 

The  orphan  of  a  beam 
In  some  fair  garden  of  the  Sun.     Alone, 

In  darkness  and  in  dream, 

It  grows  and  gropes  for  the  far  light  above, 

Whose  sweet  tradition  old 
Haunts  its  pure-lifted  face.     An  imaged  dove 

Nestling,  its  wings  doth  fold 

In  the  blind  flower's  white  core My  heart  I 

know 

That  sunless  flower  to  be. 
Oh  !  dear  lost  face,  Earth's  cavern  far  below 

Prisons  my  love  for  thee! 


THE  TRUNDLE-BED. 

f~\  O  you  remember,  Will  ?  —  long,  long  ago  ! 
....  Yet  there  thou  liest,  though  all  the  sweet 

Past  lies  dead, 

That  nestled  in  thee,  old,  old  trundle-bed  ! 
Nest  of  delicious  fancies,  dreams  that  grow 
No  more!  —  quick  magic-car  to  Fairyland! 

Ghosts   walked   the   earth   then   (in   our   garret 

too: 
For   Madge,  the  housemaid,  told   us  —  and  she 

knew  !) 

In  thee  we  saw  them  near,  how  near  us,  stand ! 
Stars   then   looked   out   of    Heaven ;    to    Heaven, 
light 


68  THE    TRUNDLE-BED. 

Prayers  clothed  like  angels  from  our  lips  arose, 
Though   from   the    heart   of    her  who    bent   so 

close, 

Hushing  us  like  fixed  flowers  that  feel  the  night. 
....  Fresh   morn,    poor  little  dreamers   lost    or 

dead, 
No  more  shall   rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 


THE   OUTSIDE   OF    THE  WINDOW. 


nr*HEY  stand  at  the  window,  peering, 

And  pressing  against  the  pane 
Their  beautiful,  childish  faces  : 
Without  are  the  night  and  rain. 

They  stand  at  the  window,  peering  — 
What  see  they,  the  children,  there  ? 

A  room  full  of  happy  faces, 
A  room  full  of  shining  air  : 

A  room  full  of  warmth  and  brightness, 
A  room  full  of  pleasant  sights  — 


/O  THE   OUTSIDE   OF  THE   WINDOW. 

Of  pictures,  and  statues,  and  vases, 
And  shadows  at  play  with  the  lights. 

But  sweetest  of  all,  to  their  gazing, 

(So  near  they  seem  part  of  them  there  !) 

Is  the  room  full  of  happy  faces 
In  the  room  full  of  shining  air. 

Ah  me  !  my  precious  observers, 
Another  sight  I  shall  find 


"What  is  it  ?  "     I  dread  to  tell  you, 
And,  oh,  it  were  sweet  to  be  blind  ! 

From  the  lighted  room,  through  the  window, 
I  see,  and  have  seen  them  of  old, 

A  world  full  of  wretched  faces, 
A  world  full  of  darkness  and  cold  : 


THE   OUTSIDE   OF   THE   WINDOW. 

A  world  full  of  cold  and  darkness, 
A  world  full  of  dreary  sights,  — 

No  pictures,  nor  statues,  nor  vases, 
But  shadows  that  put  out  the  lights. 

Ah,  saddest  of  all,  through  the  window 
(They  seem  with  us,  so  near  !)  I  behold 

A  world  full  of  wretched  faces, 

In  a  world  full  of  darkness  and  cold  ! 


NOONING  AT  THE    HALF-WAY   HOUSE. 

A     BIRTHDAY. 

T  T  ERE   at   the   Half-way  House,  a  one-hour's 

guest, 

I  see  far  back,  in  yon  bright  valley  deep, 
A  tender  mother  rock  her  child  asleep 
In  the  warm  cradle  of  her  happy  breast ; 
And,  forward,  where  the  path  I   go  must  lead  — 
Downward  how  far  I  cannot  guess  nor  know  — 
In  thick,  blind  mist,  a  house  secure,  but  low, 
Where  I  shall  rest  to-night,  and  shall  not  heed 
The  fierce,  sharp  tempest  on  the  beaten  wold 
Nor  the   close   darkness  ....  I  will   journey  on 


NOONING   AT   THE    HALF-WAY   HOUSE.  73 

(Short  is  the  steep  descent,  the  old   guides   have 

told), 

In  trust  that  when  the  anxious  day  is  gone, 
My   sleep    shall    be    the    same  —  how    soft    and 

mild  !  - 
As,  on   my  mother's   breast,  yon   new-born   child. 


WRECK. 


A  FTER  the  tempest-roar 

The  shell  sighs  on  the  shore. 


A  ship  shines,  rosily, 
One  sail-gleam/  far  at  sea. 

Waves  toss,  near  by,  a  mast  — 
The  last  Hope  climbed  it  last. 

ii. 

After  the  tempest-roar 

The  shell  sighs  on  the  shore. 


WRECK.  75 


A  maiden,  by  the  sea, 
Sees  the  sail  shine  rosily. 

On  shore  the  mast  is  flung  — 
The  dead  Hope,  dying,  clung! 


A   SCATTERED   FAMILY. 

\  "X  7E  have  been  all  together  on  the  earth ; 

But   now  the   band   that  bound  our  gentle 

sheaf 

Is  loosed  —  the  powerful  magic  bond  of  birth  ; 
Our  hearts  no  longer  turn  one  golden  leaf 
Each  day;  no  more,  through  every  winter  night, 
Brightening    within    though    skies    without    may 

frown, 

We  all  are  gathered  close  about  one  light, 
With   loving  wreaths   the  warm   quick    hours   to 

crown  : 

For  the  one  word  of  "  Home,"  which  we  had  worn, 
From  the  soul's  lips,  to  worldly  language  clear, 


A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  77 

Returns  an  alien  answer  to  its  sound, 

From  other  firesides,  winter-lighted,  borne 

"  Home  !  "  —  't  was  a  word   of   Heaven   homeless 

here, 
Whose  wandering  echo  in  our  hearts  we  found ! 


THE   LAND   OF   MEMORY. 

T^VEEP  in  some  far  enchanted  sunshine  closed, 

(We  sigh  and  dream  but  pass  forever  on,) 
Shines   a  fair   Land.      The   glad  young   Morning 

there 

Conies  up  as  rosily  from  the  lighted  East 
As  over  the  green  walls  of  Paradise  ; 
There  noonday  gathers  only  blissful  calm ; 
There  twilight  nestles,  a  still  bird  of  Heaven, 
With  purple  wings  o'er  soft  delicious  vales. 
Oh,  you  may  know  the  beauty  of  that  Land 
By  those  that  travel  hither  from  its  bounds  — 
Through  the   cold  faces,  through  the  shapes  ma 
lign 


THE   LAND    OF    MEMORY.  79 

That  gather  round  us,  through  the  dreary  toils 
That  bar  us  like  a  prison,  lo  !  they  come, 
By  sweet  enchantment  opening  doors  of  air  ! 

It  is  no  silent  Land !  —  the  joyous  birds, 
That  filled  lost  hours  so  full  with  singing,  sing 
From  sunlit  bough  to  bough,  shaking  the  leaves 
Among  the  dancing  blossoms  of  the  rain 
In  sunshine,  while  the  rainbow  clings  above; 
And   dear   blithe   brooks   leap  on,  forever,   laugh 
ing, 

Prattling  their  silver  fancies  everywhere, 
Like  children  lost  whom  all  things  know  and  love. 
Ah,  't  is  no  silent  Land,  for  they  are  there, 
Kind  words,  there  never  dead,  from  voices  kind, 
That  feed  the  longing  of  the  soul  with  love. 


8O  THE    LAND    OF    MEMORY. 

Transplanted  deep  in  that  enchanted  earth, 
Nothing  grows   old,   leaves   fall   not,    nor  flowers 

die  ; 

The  plow  of  change  goes  over  no  old  graves 
In  the  dear  face  and  in  the  loving  heart. 
O  loveliest  Land  in  all  the  sphere  of  Time !  — 
Far  green  oasis  girt  by  restless  sand, 
Circling  with  barren  sky  our  empty  life, 
While  with  tired  limbs  and  thirsty  lips  we  yearn 
For  its  bright  fountains  glittering  to  our  eyes, 
Only  returning  to  returning  dreams  !  — 
O  ever-blossoming  Land  of  Memory ! 


BLUE  SKY. 

T  T  7HEN  dreary  rains  have  veiled  the  day 

For.  many  darkling  hours, 
Till  birds  forget  their  singing  May 

And  bees  their  honey-flowers  : 
How  quickens  all  the  earth  anew 

If,  'mong  the  clouds  alone, 
A  single  break  of  happy  blue 

By  the  dark  heaven  is  shown! 

"  Blue  sky  !  blue  sky ! "  we  cheerily  cry ; 

Our  pulses  waken  new; 
Our  hearts,  uplifted,  blithe  and  high, 
Sing,  lark-like,  in  the  blue ! 

6 


82  BLUE    SKY. 

Blue  sky  !  blue  sky  !     An  open  door, 
Though  small,  may  hold  the  sun, 

And  through  it  watchful  Hope  once  more 
Sees  her  Bright  Day  begun  ! 


DREAM-WORLD. 


"T^VEAR,  beautiful,  far  Land! 

Where     all     these    foot-sore,    sighing 

pilgrims    go, 

Leaving  their  burden  and  the  restless  woe 
Of  the  fierce  desert  sand  ! 

.    •  / 

Thither  all  travel  :  there 

Wander  tired  kings,  with  glad  content,  uncrowned  ; 
The  slave,  with  all  his  tread-mill  bands  unbound, 
Breathes  its  unguarded  air. 

Thither  go  home  at  night 
All  hopeless  exiles  in  this  foreign  mart, 


84  DREAM-WORLD. 

Finding  the  old  ways  reopened  in  each  heart 
Into  forgotten  light. 

There  the  lost  child  is  found  :  — 
O  gentle  school-boy,  vanished  from  our  sight, 
Fling  your  gay  ball  and  fly  your  eager  kite 

In  that  enchanted  ground ! 

There,  firm  as  in  far  years, 

Are  fallen  heart-temples,  dear  remembered  homes  ; 
Through  vanished  doors  each  face  familiar  comes 

Smiling  —  we  wake  with  tears ! 

How  far,  yet  near,  it  seems ! 
This  dusty  world  struck  underfoot  away  — 
Circling  lost  suns,  and  sweet  with  frappier  day, 

The  holy  sphere  of  dreams  ! 


THE  DEAD  HOUSE-FIRE. 

• 
A   N  hour  ago  the  fireside  gleamed 

And  merry  faces  and  glances  beamed. 

Mother  and  children,  with  happy  sire, 
A  garland  of  gladness,  wreathed  the  fire. 

There  were  loving  voices  and  laughing  eyes, 
Whispers  of  joy  and  tender  replies. 

A  ghost  in  the  darkness  flutters  a  flame, 
Then  drops  in  the  ashes  whence  it  came. 

• 
Ghost-like  in  the  gloom  the  faces  grow, 

Then  fade  in  my  heart  with  the  ember-glow. 


THE  BURIED  WEDDING-RING. 

A   CROSS  the  door-step,  worn  and  old, 

The  new  bride,  joyous,  passed  to-day; 
The  gray  rooms  showed  an  artful  gold, 
All  words  were  light,  all  faces  gay. 

Ah,  many  years  have  lived  and  died 
Since  she  the  other  vanished  one, 

Into  that  door,  a  timid  bride, 

Bore  from  the  outer  world  the  sun. 

O  lily,  with  the  rose's  glow ! 

O  rose,  the  lily's  garment  clad !  — 


THE   BURIED   WEDDING-RING.  8/ 

The  rooms  were  golden  long  ago, 
All  words  were  blithe,  all  faces  glad. 

She  wore  upon  her  hand  the  ring, 
Whose  frail  and  human  bond  is  gone  — 

A  coffin  keeps  the  jealous  thing 
Radiant  in  shut  oblivion  : 

For  she  (beloved,  who  loved  so  well), 

In  the  last  tremors  of  her  breath, 
Whispered  of  bands  impossible  — 
"  She  would  not  give  her  ring  to  Death." 

But  he,  who  holds  a  newer  face 

Close  to  his  breast  with  eager  glow, 

Has  he  forgotten  her  embrace,  ^ 

The  first  shy  maiden's,  long  ago  ? 


88  THE   BURIED   WEDDING-RING. 

Lo,  in  a  ghostly  dream  of  night, 

A  vision,  over  him  she  stands, 
Her  mortal  face  in  heavenlier  light, 

With  speechless  blame  but  blessing  hands  ! 

And,  smiling  mortal  sorrow's  pain 
Into  immortal  peace  more  deep, 

She  gives  him  back  her  ring  again  — 
The  new  bride  kisses  him  from  sleep ! 


BIRTHPLACE. 

T  PASS  it  in  the  dead  of  night;  — 

The  autumnal  heaven  shines  misty-bright ; 
The  old  moon  rises,  a  dumb  ghost 
Of  the  sweet  suns  whose  souls  are  lost ; 
The  fog  crawls  o'er  the  tide  asleep, 
Like  a  weird  spirit  of  the  deep  : 
The  place  whose  trees  remember  me, 
Floating  in  mist,  dream-like,  I  see, 
And,  mist-like  rising,  ghostly  bright, 
Lost  memories  haunt  my  soul  to-night. 

Is  it  a  dream  ?    O  Spirit,  here 
The  very  dust  to  thee  was  dear ; 


9O  BIRTHPLACE. 

The  lips  of  Nature  kissed  thine  own 

And  blessed  thee  with  her  mother-tone, 

Giving  thee  gifts  of  birds  and  flowers 

And  constant  miracles  of  hours  : 

Oh,  in  the  woods  and  streams  and  streets 

Perchance  the  mother-tongue  repeats 

The  dear  soft  syllables  of  old  — 

But  thou  art  deaf,  and  blind,  and  cold  ! 

No  longer  are  her  arms  the  birth 

Of  every  precious  thing  of  earth ; 

No  longer  on  her  bosom  sweet 

Their  prayers  with   thine  the  flowers   repeat. 

Is  the  old  Mother  blind,  that  now 

She  finds  no  mark  on  breast  or  brow  ?  — 

Is  the  dear  Mother  deaf,  she  hears 

Not  her  child's  voice  with  mother-ears  ?  — 


BIRTHPLACE.  9 1 

Is  the  sweet  mother's  bosom   dry, 

She  knows  not  of  her  nursling  nigh  ? 

Alas,  the  prodigal  ne'er  returns 

For  whom  the  mother's  bosom  yearns : 

Is  it  not  he,  the  favored  one 

That  was  her  jewel  of  the  sun 

And  made  it  bright.     She  murmurs,  "  Come. 

My  lost  one  never  reaches  home." 


THE   SIGHT   OF   ANGELS. 

r  I  "'HE  angels  come,  the  angels  go, 

Through  open  doors  of  purer  air  ; 
Their  moving  presence  oftentimes  we  know, 
It  thrills  us  everywhere. 

Sometimes  we  see  them :  lo,  at  night, 
Our  eyes  were  shut,  but  open  seem; 

The  darkness  breathes  a  breath  of  wondrous  light, 
And  then  it  was  a  dream  ! 


FOR  A  GRAVESTONE. 

r  I  "*HE  marble  has  no  speech  but  that  we  give, 
And    we    are    dumb,   and,    speechless,   pass 

away; 
The  silence  in  which  our  affections  live 

Holds  all  we  need  to  speak  and  cannot  say. 


THE   GHOST'S   ENTRY. 

'THHE  candle  flutters  and  darkles :  — 

There  is  no  sound  within ; 
The  embers  in  ashes  redden, 

One  flame  crawls  spectral  and  thin. 

The  candle  flutters  and  darkles  :  — 
Wide  and  black  is  the  door  !    I  start 

The  Wind  was  the  ghost  that  entered, 
And  shook  me  and  chilled  my  heart. 


OTHER  POEMS 


CLIO  IN  THE  CAPITOL. 

SEEN      AT      SUNSET      FROM     THE      LIBRARY     WINDOW 
OPPOSITE. 

[Franzoni's  Clock,  with  the  marble  sculpture  of  the  Muse  of  History,  Clio,  list 
ening  and  writing,  upon  a  winged  chariot,  —  one  wheel  of  which,  supported  by  the 
hemisphere  of  a  globe,  is  the  clock-face,  —  stands  over  the  northern  entrance  of  the 
Old  Hall  of  Representatives,  now  assigned  for  the  statutes  and  portraits  of  our 
great  public  men.  Through  the  centre  of  this  Old  Hall  is  the  passage  from  the 
Rotunda  of  the  Capitol  toward  the  New  Hall.] 


TTERE,  looking  down,  I  see  her  Grecian  grace, 

With  the  still  halo  of  the  last,  low  ray, 
Motionless,  beautiful,  in  the  Sacred  Place, 
While  the  late  jarring  footstep  floats  away. 


IOO  CLIO   IN   THE   CAPITOL. 


II. 


Lo,  on  the  winged  chariot  where  she  stands  !  — 
(Its    hurrying     wheel    notes    the    quick    hour's 
hushed  flight, 

The  half -globe  beneath  it)  —  in  her  patient  hands 
The  open  book,  the  pen  applied  to  write  ! 


iii. 


In  the  Old  Hall  the  men  are  changed  to  ghosts 
Whom  erst  she  marked  —  who  marked  her  not, 
perchance  — 

And  there  below,  for  those  long-vanished  hosts, 
Show  marble  shape  and  pictured  countenance. 


CLIO   IN   THE   CAPITOL.  IOI 


IV. 


Daily  across  yon  floor,  long  since  so  loud 

With    partial    schemes    and    strifes    of    public 
breath, 

To  the  New  Hall  new-jostling  statesmen  crowd 
Through  that  White  Congress  of  undying  death. 


v. 


Men  of  the  Past !  your  word  her  pages  show  — 
She   heard,    she   saw,  she   knew  you  there,  in 
deed  ! 

O  ye  New-Comers,  eddying  to  and  fro, 
Behold  the  still  Recorder  and  take  heed  ! 


IO2  CLIO    IN    THE   CAPITOL. 


VI. 


There  she  remains,  with  listening  face,  and  pen 
Ready  to  give  the  patriot's  deathless  dower: 

See  !  —  living,  speaking,  acting,  passing  men  !  — 
The  Eternal  Present  on  her  flying  Hour  ! 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C.,  1872. 


TO  THE  MONTH  OF  MARCH. 
[WRITTEN  ON  MY  BIRTHDAY.] 

IV  /TY  life's  first  light  thine  own  did  bring, 
(Have  I   not  shown  myself  thy  child  ?) 
Month  of  the  bluebird,  nurse  of  Spring  — 
Fierce,  stormy,  gay,  capricious,  mild  ! 

When  thou  didst  come  and  bear  me,  lo ! 

The  lion  came  in,  untamed  and  strong; 
My  earliest  footprint  was  in  snow  ; J 

Cold  winds  sung  my  first  nursery  song. 

1  Allusion  to  the  observance  of  some  little  household  superstition. 


IO4         TO  THE  MONTH  ON  MARCH. 

The  lion,  come  in,  goes  out  the  lamb ; 

So  may  I,  Mother,  when  life  is  past, 
In  green  Spring  pastures,  sweet  and  calm, 

With  thy  soft  going,  go  at  last. 


A  TRAGEDY   OF    LONG   BRIDGE.1 


A  CROSS    Long    Bridge    a    woman    with    her 

child 
Hurries  —  what  backward  glances  quick  and  wild  ! 


Dark  is  her  face  with  Nature's  mask  of  woe ; 
She  is  a  slave  —  yes,  this  was  long  ago  ! 

Behind  her  lay  Virginia  in  the  sun  : 
Before  her  shone  the  dome  of  Washington. 

1  Near  the  Virginia  end  of  Long  Bridge,  at  Washington,  was 
once  a  slave-pen,  and  many  years  ago,  it  is  said,  a  tragedy,  some 
what  similar  to  that  related  here,  took  place  upon  the  bridge. 


IO6  A  TRAGEDY   OF   LONG  BRIDGE. 

Behind  her  Slavery  burdened  day  and  'dream  : 
Before  her  Freedom  held  a  far,  faint  gleam. 

Behind  her,  like  a  bloodhound  in  her  track, 
Came  her  fierce  master,  strong  to  drag  her  back. 

Behind,  before  her  —  if  she  dreamed  or  saw 
I  know  not — lo,  the  bond-securing  Law!  l 

Panting  she  passes  now  the  central  tide, 
Where  the  deep  river  shines  on  either  side. 

Hark  !  clamorous  men  behind  her  follow  fleet  — 
Faster  she  flies  with  wild  and  piteous  feet ! 

1  The  Fugitive  Slave  Law. 


A  TRAGEDY    OF   LONG   BRIDGE.  IO/ 

Look !  —  who    approach   her    from    the    Northern 

shore  ? 
She  pauses,  turns ;  she  looks  behind,  before  ! 

"  Stop  her  ! "  —  the  servants  of  the  Law  behind :  — 
All  must  obey,  though  Pity  speak  "Be  blind!" 

She  stands,  all  tremulous,  helpless,  looking  round. 
They  close  about  her  —  she  will  soon  be  bound  ! 

Hard  arms  are   stretched  —  she   springs  with  one 

shrill  scream, 
Her  child  close-prest,  and  sinks  into  the  stream ! 

Baffled  her  master  stands  with  raging  breath  — 
Law  cannot  reach  the  Slave's  Deliverer,  Death ! 


IO8  A   TRAGEDY   OF  LONG   BRIDGE. 

....  Yes,  it  was  long  ago ;  but  still  at  night 
Across  Long  Bridge  is  seen  the  piteous  flight. 

Still,  sometimes  —  who  has  seen  I  do  not  know  — 
Is  seen  the  dreadful  chase  of  long  ago. 

Fierce  shouts   are  heard :   lo !   shapes    of  .shadow 

run  !  — 
A  dusky  woman's,  with  her  babe,  is  one ! 

Hark !  a  last  shriek  —  the  shrill  appeal  to  Death  ! 
The  water  laps  the  pier  with  'marshy  breath. 


TO  A   LONELY   WOODLAND   SPRING. 

T)URE  dweller  in  the  shadows  green, 

Glad  hermit  of  the  solitude, 
Whose  lovely  work  is  wrought  unseen 

Forever  in  the  pathless  wood  ! 

Like  thine  I  wish  my  task  might  be  :  — 
With  the  shy  fountain's  lonely  birth 

In  Nature's  close  society, 

But  sending  beauty  through  the  earth. 

Such  is  the  poet's  life  :  a  stream 
From  his  heart  rising  ever  steals, 

Wreathing  bare  use  with  beauty's  gleam, 
A  rainbow  on  the  busy  wheels  ! 


HOME -LONGING. 

T  LONG  for  thee,  O  native  Western  Land ! 

I  long  for  thy  full  rivers,  moving  slow 
In  their  old  dream,  that  changes  not,  but  takes 
The  ever-changing  vision  of  the  air; 
I  long  for  these,  the  kinsmen  of  my  youth, 
And  thy  vast  woodlands,  murmuring  weirdly  still 
Lost  Indian  legends,  and  thy  prairies  where 
The  bison's  thunder,  sinking  far  and  vague, 
Grows  loud  and  near,  and  is  the  hurrying  train. 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 


A  VOICE   IN   OHIO.1 

DECEMBER    17,    1877. 

T)  Y  my  quick  firelight  rapt  and  still, 

High  on  this  black  Ohio  hill, 
I  think  of  him  who  crossed  to-day 
The  snow-roofed  boundary  of  our  way 
(His  book  upon  my  table  lies, 
Look  from  my  wall  his  grave,  sweet  eyes), 
The  poet,  who,  in  many  a  song, 
Quickening  unnumbered  hearts  so  long, 
Has  breathed  New  England's  spirit  forth 
From  East  to  West,  through  South  and  North  — 

1  Read  at  the   "  Atlantic  Dinner  "  in  Boston  in  honor   of   the 
seventieth  anniversary  of  John  G.  Whittier's  birthday. 


112  A   VOICE    IN    OHIO, 

Not  the  witch-burning  bigot's  rage, 
That  soiled  her  first  heroic  page, 
But  that,  sweet,  tender,  warm  and  good, 
Confirming  human  brotherhood ; 
Religious  with   diviner  scope ; 
Wide-armed  with  charity  and  hope ; 
Lighter  of  household  fires  that  bless 
The  fast-withdrawing  wilderness 
(Keeping  old  home-stars  burning  clear 
In  Memory's  holy  atmosphere) ; 
Sowing  the  waste  with  seeds  of  light ; 
Righteous  with  wrath  "at  wrongful  might: 
Such  is  thy  better  spirit,  known 
Wherever  Whittier's  songs  have  flown  ;  — 
Thy  greater,  larger,  nobler  air, 
New  England,  thus  is  everywhere  I 


A   VOICE   IN    OHIO.  113 

What  though  no  kith  or  kin  of  mine 
Came  with  the  Mayflower  o'er  the  brine, 
(I  know  not  —  the  dear  Lord  only  knows  : 
No  wide-branched  family  record  shows  ! ) 
Grudge  me  not  local  pride  —  aye  much  — 
In  him,  New  England !  French  and  Dutch 
(We  also  fled  for  conscience'  sake, 
From  zealot  sword,  revival  stake), 
Was  I  not  taught  by  thy  wise  rule 
In  the  great  Western  Yankee  school  ? 
Was  I  not  shaped  by  thine  and  thee 
In  almost  all  that  now  makes  me? 
So,  while  my  pulses  warm  and  stir, 
I  truly  am  a  New  Englander ! 

Blessings  be  with  him  —  praise,  less  worth ; 
Why  ask  long-added  hours  of  earth  ? 
8 


114  A   VOICE   IN   OHIO. 

Grateful,  if  given,  these  shall  come. 
Birds,  sing  to  the  reaper  going  home, 
Singing  himself  —  his  work  well-done. 
Shine  on  him,  slow,  soft-setting  sun ! 

NORTH  BEND,  OHIO. 


BREVIA. 


A    CERTAIN     CONSERVATIVE. 

T  TE  holds  a  chrysalis  aloft,  infirm, 

Forgetting  wings  have  borne  away  the  worm. 


ii. 


THE    WHITE    LIAR. 

Beautiful,  bright  deceiver ! 

On  your  lips  are  numberless  lies, 
But  the  truths  they  slay  so  lightly 

Live,  above,  in  their  heaven,  your  eyes  ! 


1 1 6  BREVIA. 

III. 

A    STATUE    OF    JUPITER,    BY    PHIDIAS. 
( Version  from  the  Greek  Anthology?) 

Either  Jove  came  to  earth  from  heaven  to  show 

His  very  self  to  thee, 
Or,  Phidias,  thou  from  earth  to  heaven  didst  go, 

The  god  himself  to  see. 


IV. 


NEW   LIFE. 

The  Night  —  it  passes,  like  a  burdening  dream  ; 

Quickened,  I  walk  along  a  happy  shore, 
While  low  despairs,  like  mist  along  the  stream, 

Climb,  wondering  at  the  sun,  and  are  no  more. 


BREVIA.  II/ 


V. 


AFTER-WEALTH. 

Diamonds  in  tropic  river-beds,  they  say, 
Are  found  when  the  fierce  floods  are  drained  away  ; 
So,  in  our  lives,  where  passion-torrents  flow 
No  more,  shine  wisdom's  precious-stones  below. 

VI. 
A     FLOWER    IN    A    BOOK. 

The  withered  flower  shall  raise 
A  ghost  of  vanished  days  :  — 
From  crumbled  leaves  a  rose, 
All  fragrant-souled,  shall  rise 
Within  the  heart  and  eyes 


1 1 8  BREVIA. 

Of  one  who,  dreaming,  knows 
The  dust  that  was  a  rose  ! 


VII. 


A  MOTH. 

Poor  moth,  that  fluttering  through  my  candle-flame, 

Die  of  your  sudden  passion  for  the  light, 
From  the  great  outer  gulf  of  night  you  came, 
Then  pass  into  utter  night ! 


VIIT. 


INFLUENCE    OF    BOOKS. 


Within  the  book-world  rests  the  noiseless  lever 
That  moves  the  noisy  thronged  world  forever. 


BREVIA.  119 


IX. 


WITH   A   GIFT. 

Accept,  I  beg,  this  little  shining  stone, 
Not  for  its  worth  —  a  friend's  good- will  alone. 
Worn  on  your  breast,  I  pray  that  it  may  show 
Long  where    that    friend    rests    safe   and  warm 
below. 


x. 


HOLY    WORD. 

God  has  unrolled  His  Bible  in  thy  heart ; 
To  all  the  Holy  Word  of  God  impart. 


THE   DEAD   STAR. 

"X/ONDER,  in  empty  dark, 

Wanders,    somewhere,   a  wasted    sun, 

whose  light, 

Erst  breathed  abroad  with  life-creating  spark, 
Made  hanging  gardens  of  the  circling  night. 

Through  Time's  dark  emptiness, 
Some  soul,  that  genius  lit,  goes,  withered,  wan, 
Its  flame  to  blackness  fallen,  purposeless  — 
The  dead  star  wanders  with  the  fire-spent  man. 


ODE: 

FOR  THE  OPENING   OF  THE    CINCINNATI    MUSIC    HALL.1 
MAY  FESTIVAL,  1878. 


1  ^OR  ministries  benign, 
Complete,  behold  the  gracious  temple  stands, 
Whose  stately  walls  full,  fortune-sowing  hands, 
(Praise  for  the  gift  to  the  large-giving  heart !) 
Have  builded  in  our  eager  Western  mart, 

Denying  Traffic's  greed  and  Mammon's  shrine. 

1  The  gift  of  certain  leading  citizens  to  the  city. 


122  ODE. 

\ 

II. 

To  what  civic  Good  or  Grace 
Shall  we  dedicate  the  Place? 
— To  Art  and  Industry,  in  friendly  strife 
Brightening  and  blessing  life : 

To  smiling  Toil,  electric-fingered  Skill 
(Aladdin's    light   bidding    by   the    huge   bondman 
done, 

Dream-sandaled,  tireless,  still)  : 
To  quick  Invention's  prompt  device, 
With  mechanism  airy-nice, 

That,  like  the  old  fireside   sprite, 
Makes  the  wan  maiden's  task-work  playful-brief, 

Letting  her  sleep  by  night : 
To  all  that  lathe  and  loom  produce  : 


ODE.  123 

To  Flora's  garland,  Ceres'  sheaf, 

And  every  fruit  of  soil  and  sun 

(With  the  blithe  vineyard's   temperate  juice) 

To  Sculpture's  breathless-breathing   charm, 

And  Painting's  mirror  soft  and  warm  : 

To  each  fair  muse   and  every  household  grace : 
To  Use  and  Beauty  bound  in  one  — 
We  dedicate  the  Place! 

But,  first,  to  her,  the  Muse  of  Music,  her 

Whose  speech  all  spirits  in  earth  and  heaven 
know 

(The  native  tongue  of    each  far-sundered  nation), 

The  loftiest,  lowliest  human  minister, 

Exalting  pleasure,  soothing  woe, 

With  heart,  and  voice,  and  organ's  vast  elation, 
To  her  shall  be  its  consecration. 


124  °DE- 

III. 

From  the  wide  doors  of  their  rapt  dwelling-places 
(Whence  ever-newly  come  their  songs  below, 

And  whither,  hence,  they  go), 
Look,  what  high  guests  attend  our  happy  rite, 
With   earth-woven   wreaths   but   sphere-enchanted 
faces,  — 

The  Masters  of   Delight ! 
— First  he,  of  the  elder  days, 
Whom  the  great   organ  owns 
With    its    vast-bosomed,     earth-shaking,     heaven- 
reaching  tones, 

(Let  the  proud  servant  throb  his  loftiest  praise  !) 
Next  he,  who  built  the  mighty  symphonies, 
One    for     each     muse,     who,    chanting    joy    and 
peace, 


ODE.  125 

Thrills  us  with  awe  and  yearning  infinite, 
Picturing    divine    repose,    love's    world-embracing 
height ! 

Then  he,  whose  noblest  strain 
Brings  Orpheus  back  to  quicken  earth  again, 
To  conquer  darkness,  and  the  dread  under-powers, 
Charming  lost  love  from  the   deep  doors  of  Hell. 
And  lo,  the  choral  master,  highest  in  fame 
(A  thousand  voices  lift  to  greet  him  well), 
Who    breathes     sure    faith    through     these    frail 

hearts  of   ours  ! 

And  many  another  well-beloved  name, 
Aye,  many  another,  comes  with  these, 
Star-like,  with  spheral  harmonies :  — 
Welcome,  each  and  all, 
To  our  festal  Hall ; 
Long  be  its  music-lifted  dome 
For  their  abiding  souls  the  transient  home. 


126  ODE. 

IV. 

Hark !  as  if  the  morning-stars  were  singing 
O'er  the  first  glad  Six  Days'  Task   divine  — 
What  rapturous  sounds  are  these 
Of   quickening  ecstacies  ! 

Earth  from  her  dark  spell-bound  slumber  breaking, 
To  the  sun's  far-journeyed  kiss  awaking, 
Lo,  the  blissful  palpitation 
Of  the  newly-warmed  creation  ! 
With  a  myriad  mingling  voices 
All  the  electric  air  rejoices  ; 
All  about,  beneath,  above, 
Rings  the  tender  note  of  love ; 
Everywhere,  around  are  heard 
Fountain-laughter,  song  of  bird, 
Insect-murmur,  wild-bee's  hum, 


ODE.  127 

Bleat  of  flock,  and  low  of  kine  ;  — 
Airs  of  new-born  Eden  bringing, 
With  her  lilting,  light-heart  lay, 
Dancing,  singing, 
May  is  come!  — 
Open  doors  and  let  in  May  ! 
Let  Nature's  full  delight 

Join  with  our  banded  joy,  and  crown  our  gracious 
rite! 


v. 

To  this  fair  civic  Hall, 

Year  after  year, 

New  multitudes  in  many  another  May 
Shall  throng,  repeating  the  bright  festival 

We  celebrate  to-day, 


128  ODE. 

With  happy  rites  to  peace  and  culture  dear ; 
Nor  absent  be  our  city's  Patron  then, 

In  spirit,  nor  absent  now  — 
Commending  loftier-lowlier  ways, 
The  still,  clear  plainness  of  heroic  days  : 
He  after  whom  the  founders,  putting  by 
Swords   wherewith  late   their   sacred   rights   were 

won 

(Associates  they  and  friends  of  Washington), 
And,  building  here  in  the  fierce  wilderness, 

Beneath  the  Indian  sky, 

The  home  we  love  and  ask  of  Heaven  to  bless, 
Called  it  for  him,  the  soldier-citizen, 

The  Roman  at  his  plow ! 


THE  POET'S  BIRD. 


a  little  son§  there  flutters 

From  my  breast  on  sunlit  wings 
In  the  world's  wide  sky  it  singeth  — 
From  my  heart  its  echo  sings." 

Far  away  it  flieth,  singing 

Through  the  Mays  of  many  Springs 
(He  was  laid  in  lost  Decembers)  :  — 

From  all  hearts  its  echo  sings  ! 
9 


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